Losing A Life, Saving A Soul
by Kristine Thorne
Summary: This is the sequel to A Gambling Man's Guilt, and is set after the episode where Rosie found out Mubbs had slept with Connie.


Disclaimer: All characters belong to the BBc, but I wish Connie was mine. 

A/N: This is the sequel to A Gambling Man's Guilt, and is set after last Tuesday's episode, where Rosie found out that Mubbs slept with Connie. 

Losing A Life, Saving A Soul

Days gradually moved into weeks, and now it was early December, adverts for Christmas everywhere. Ric had occasionally taken Connie up on her offer, though she had found herself seeking his company almost as much as he had hers. They remained strictly professional in the eyes of others, or at least as professional as they ever had. But in private, they were giving each other some of the most sensational sex either of them had encountered in a long time. Ric was beginning to open up to her, and she would always listen. But Connie wasn't doing the same. There was still so much he didn't know about her, but Ric wasn't going to press the issue. If Connie ever wanted to use him as a sounding board, she knew she could, and if she didn't, then she wouldn't. But a couple of days after Connie's little confrontation with Rosie, where she casually informed her as to the brief fling she'd had with Mubbs, Connie's equilibrium began to tilt. 

Connie and Will had been in theatre for hours, desperately trying to save the life of a tiny baby, delivered by caesarian at only 28 weeks. She had been born so early, because a congenital heart defect was causing her to become distressed while still in her mother's womb. It was almost eight thirty in the evening, when Connie finally came to the conclusion that there was nothing more they could do for the fragile little girl, and they were forced to turn all the monitors off, leaving nothing but an empty shell on the operating table. Will could see Connie's closed, tired face behind her mask, and he briefly touched her shoulder as he passed, feeling her sense of failure as if it were really tangible. "We tried everything we could, Connie," He said, feeling that unsettling urge to comfort her. "Did we?" Connie asked him bleakly. "You should never assume that, Will, especially with someone who is less than a day old." Taking a moment to look at her in concern, Will walked into the scrub room, to wash the day's toil from his hands. But Connie stayed exactly where she was, just looking down on the tiny infant she hadn't been able to save. Seeing that she obviously needed a moment to herself, the anesthetist and nurses left her to it. When Will glanced through the scrub room window, he saw her reach out to the child, picking up the tiny form as if by instinct, gently cradling the baby against the front of her scrubs. The little girl was so small, that she fitted easily between Connie's skilful hands. Walking back into the theatre, Will quietly approached her. It shocked him enormously to se tears shining in those huge violet eyes, because she'd always remained so aloof with him, and with everyone else. "Connie," He said carefully. "You need to let her go now." "Does it surprise you, to know I have a heart, Mr. Curtis?" She asked him. "A little," He was forced to admit. As Connie put the baby back down on the table, and one of the nurses stepped forward to gently wrap a sheet around the child, Connie walked away. 

A little while later, when Connie took the lift down to the ground floor and Maternity, it briefly occurred to her that she didn't know quite how to deliver this particular piece of bad news. Telling relatives that their loved ones had died, was usually just a part of her job, something she was forced to do by virtue of her profession and seniority. But this was very different. When Owen saw her approaching the nurses' station, presumably wanting to find out where the mother of her patient was residing, he called over to her. "Connie," which made her turn to face him. Instantly, he could see the answer in her face. "It wasn't a success then?" He said as he reached her, seeing the real essence of failure in her face. "No," She said miserably. "Where's her mother? I ought to break the bad news." "Leave that to us," Owen said kindly, seeing that Connie was far too emotionally stretched to be doing anything of the sort. "I failed to save the life of her baby, Mr. Davis," Connie said bitterly. "So I should be the one to tell her." "Quite right," Came Mubbs' strident tones, as he approached them. "We have enough grieving mothers to deal with." "Oh, and I suppose you don't think I have quite enough of my own on Darwin," Connie replied acidly, in no mood for this weaklings antics. "You probably get your registrar to do your dirty work for you," Mubbs told her. "At least I don't abandon my responsibilities, just when things begin to look a little bit serious." "That's rich, considering what you did to Rosie yesterday." "Mubbs, shut up," Owen said harshly, having heard quite enough from both of them. "Haven't you got some patients to check on or something?" When Mubbs had slunk away like a dog with his tail between his legs, Owen turned his gaze back on Connie. "I'll break the bad news," He said quietly. "Now, go home, have a large drink, and go to bed." "That your prescription for failure, is it?" Connie asked derisively. "Connie, you didn't fail, these things happen," Owen insisted. "I mean it, go home and go to bed. You look done in." "Yeah, try it on your own for once," Mubbs said from where he was loitering in the doorway of the ward. "Have you got something to say, Mubbs?" Owen demanded. ""I just didn't think I'd see the day," Mubbs said conversationally. "When our esteemed Medical Director would require anything resembling reassurance. You've got to admit, it's a sight to behold." Not wanting to hear any more of her inefficiencies broadcast to all and sundry, Connie walked away, her head held high, but with a pinched expression on her face, telling Owen, if no one else, that Mubbs had definitely gone too far. As Connie waited for the lift to arrive, she heard Owen's reprimand. "You, need to learn a little bit of sensitivity and tact," He said, furious yet again with his wayward registrar. "She hasn't got a sensitive bone in her body," Mubbs said in disgust. "Except maybe the one between her legs." As Connie rode upwards, she felt the sting of his words as a slap to her character. But was he right? She really couldn't be sure. 

Connie didn't stop at the fifth floor, but kept on going up to the eighth, wanting to stay as far as possible from the place where people might find her. She needed to cry, needed to let out some of the pain her failure had resurrected, and she didn't want to be in her office to do it. Will had seen far too much of her vulnerability back in theatre, and she thought it would probably finish him off to see any more. She sought out the one hiding place where she knew that only one other might disturb her. When she stepped out onto the roof, the bitterly icy wind bit at any exposed skin, causing her to wrap her arms around herself in protection against its force. But as she leaned against the old hospital wall, she thought that the furiously inclement conditions might even keep Ric away from here, which was all to the good. Only in private could Connie let herself go, allow herself to give into everything she was feeling. When the tears finally began to cascade down her cheeks, she briefly wondered if they would ever stop. It was quite some time since this particular event had been so ruthlessly brought to the forefront of her mind, but just occasionally, it did happen. God, that baby had been so tiny, so delicate, and she hadn't even been able to keep it alive. 

When Will hadn't seen hide nor hair of Connie for some time, he went to see if she was hiding in her office, but she wasn't. The door was open, the blinds up, and her bag and jacket were still on the leather sofa waiting for her. Walking thoughtfully along the corridor to Ric's office, Will wondered just what that had all been about in theatre today. On the couple of occasions when he'd made a comment about Connie's not having children, she'd always come back at him with far more force than the comments had really warranted. Now, after today, he thought he might have an idea as to why. When Ric heard the knock on his door, he called, "Come in." But Will wasn't who he was expecting to see. "Ric, have you got a minute?" Will asked, putting his head round the door. "Yes, come in and sit down," Ric said, turning away from the computer, where he'd been writing up various patient records. "Have you seen Connie at all today?" Will asked carefully, sinking into the depths of Ric's sofa, remembering too late that this was where Ric and Connie were said to have got to know each other, at the end of Connie's first day. "Not since this morning, why?" "Something a little, well, odd happened in theatre this evening," will began, wondering if he sounded as stupid as he felt. Ric simply raised an eyebrow. "We were operating on a baby, born at 28 weeks, and we couldn't save her. It seemed to get to Connie, a lot more than a death in theatre normally would." "And you think she might be hiding somewhere to get it out of her system?" Ric asked. "Well, she's not in her office, but her coat and handbag still are, and this just isn't like her. You know Connie, always shows as little feeling as possible." "She's not quite as heartless as she would have everyone believe," Ric said quietly. "Well, I wouldn't know," Will said with a shrug. "What happened in theatre?" Ric asked, wanting to know more before he made a decision. "Nothing really, just that after we'd all left, she picked up the baby. I mean, held it as though she really knew how. It looked almost instinctive." Ric steepled his fingers together on his desk in front of him, mulling this one over. "She asked me if I was surprised to see she had a heart," Will added regretfully, telling Ric in no uncertain terms that it definitely had been a surprise. "Leave it with me," Ric said eventually. "Do you know where she might be hiding?" Will asked, sounding genuinely concerned for his boss. "I might," Ric said evasively, knowing that if he was right about her location, he didn't want to share their retreat with anyone. 

When Ric stepped out onto the rooftop, he was thankful that he'd had the sense to put his coat on before leaving his office. He'd known she'd be up here. Somehow, some instinct had led him to the place where she'd found him some weeks ago. She'd brought him back from the brink on that night in early November, and now it was his turn to do the same for her, if she would let him. He could see her from where he stood, huddled against the side of the building, arms wrapped around herself to try to keep out the cold. It tore at his heart to hear her cry, but he also realised that both his company and his comfort might not be all that welcome. "What, are you doing here?" She asked between gasps, the force of her grief driving the air from her lungs. "I had a visit from your very concerned registrar," He told her, walking a little closer. "Oh, did you," She said bitterly. "I suppose he thinks I've cracked up completely." "No, he's just worried about you, as am I." "Well, there's no need," She said flatly, struggling to stem the tears that made her feel far more unclothed than ever. "Connie," Ric said gently. "This isn't like you, to get like this over a patient." "This isn't about the patient!" Connie threw back at him, now really losing her cool in the face of his ignorance. "This, is about, my, baby!" The moment the words spewed forth from her, she clamped her mouth shut, inwardly kicking herself for having uttered them. Walking slowly towards her, so as not to push her into doing anything thoroughly stupid, he could see that her own words had greatly shocked her. When she allowed him to enclose her in his arms, he could feel that she didn't have any fight left in her. Undoing his coat, he tried to wrap it round her as well, feeling the violent shivering of her body, both from the cold and her grief. "I wondered if that's what it might have been about," He said softly, gently rubbing her shoulders to try and soothe away the sobs that were still wracking her body. "How could you?" She asked, lifting her face up from where it had been resting against his broad chest. "Do you remember that day you found me up here?" He asked, knowing she did. "And you took me home with you? Well, one of the things you said to me that day, was that you knew what it was like to fail as a parent. You didn't elaborate, and I didn't ask you to." "Well, how utterly bloody stupid of me," She said derisively. "That's what Irish coffee on an empty stomach does for you." She sounded so bitter that it made him inwardly flinch. "Connie, listen to me," He said persuasively. "What happened today, has obviously brought back something very painful, and I think you need to talk about it." "Don't go there, Ric," She said firmly. "Connie, I already am there," He told her cajolingly. "Don't you dare, assume a right you do not possess," She said forcefully, pushing him away from her. "Sleep with me you may, decipher the workings of my mind, you may not." "That might work on Will Curtis, Connie," He told her, almost smiling at the way she was shouting at him. "But it won't work on me. You need to do it, or you'll come out of this even more bitter and closed off than you were before." She stood there, just staring at him, feeling as though he'd slapped her. "I don't know how to," She said almost in a whisper, looking away from him. "And before that day when you told me that it was perfectly all right to cry, I didn't either," He told her gently, putting his arms around her again. When she kissed him, he could feel the sheer need in her to return to something she knew, something that was so much a part of her that it would make her feel normal again. "Come on," He said after a while. "I'm taking you home." "How can you, when you don't have a car?" She asked him, wanting to perhaps have one last dig. "Well, I'll just have to drive yours then, won't I," He said as they went inside. "Get so much as a scratch on it, and your bankrupcy charges will seem like speeding fines in comparison." 

As Ric moved her silver-grey Jaguar through the streets of Holby, she watched his skilful hands on the wheel. She knew he was about to try and persuade her to talk about her baby, but she didn't know whether or not she should. He might come to loathe the very sight of her, when he heard what she'd done, at that not so tender age of seventeen. When they drew up outside her house, now almost more familiar to him than his own tiny bedsit, he handed the keys to her and said, "Nice car." Connie gave him the barest hint of a smile. "Don't get too attached to it," She said, getting out of the car and walking towards her house. He could tell by her posture and the tone of her voice, that his attempt to make her open up wasn't going to be easy. She was tense, belligerent, and wholly intent on keeping him out. Once inside, she made straight for the lounge, switching on the gas fire, and pouring herself an enormous glass of red wine. "Coffee might be better," Ric commented, as she took a place at the right hand end of the sofa. "Ric, I didn't ask you to drive me home, and I'm not asking you to stay," She said icily. "If you want to stay, that's fine, but don't try and stop me from doing what I feel like doing." ""Would you let me get on with it, if I were in your position, and fully intent on gambling?" He asked, taking a seat beside her, though maintaining a slight distance from her. "No," She said curtly. "But then, I'm not addicted to drinking, so the circumstances are entirely different." Putting her glass down on the coffee table, Connie got up to put on some melancholy music. "Do you want a glass, or don't you?" She asked, lifting the bottle in his direction. Saying that he would, Ric nevertheless resolved to stay as sober as possible. When she'd handed him the glass, she again retrieved her faithful source of nicotine, that he'd only seen her resort too once before, on the day she'd first brought him here. 

Ric sat there, watching her smoke, wondering how to get her to talk. He could see the pain corroding her spirit, just as clearly as if the acid were eating its way through stone. When she finally stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray, she appeared a little calmer, having needed the slight reprieve before she took the initiative. "Apart from your little liking for the occasional joint," She began. "Have you ever taken drugs?" "How do you know about that?" He asked, her question not being remotely close to what he'd expected to come from her. "I do have access to your personnel file, Mr. Griffin," She said with a smirk. "I took coke once, at medical school," He told her, wondering where this was leading. "And frightened myself stupid, so I didn't do it again. Why?" "I got into all that when I was sixteen," She said, taking a sip of her wine. "I was the proverbial waste of space, sleeping with everything that stood still or lay down long enough, and filling my body with any amount of alcohol and narcotics. Every boy I knew, and many who were old enough to know better, wanted me. It was almost more invigorating than the speed. How I came out of that without Hep C or HIV is beyond me, but there you are. My parents were quite rightly unamused by my behaviour, and when they discovered I was pregnant, and that I had absolutely no idea who the father was, they kicked me out. I can't blame them really. I was homeless for a very short time, but usually managed to find someone to provide me with a bed for the night. It's amazing the things you'll do for a hit of coke, or speed, or anything else that might blot it all out. So, when my baby arrived, at 29 weeks, she was withdrawing from any number of things. She only lived for a few hours, and I didn't even give her a name. But she did just one thing for me, she made me grow up. Knowing that I had caused her to die, made me grow up over night. It's not something you ever get over, being the reason why a part of you died. So, I found myself somewhere to stay, got a part time job to support myself, and went back to school. And here I am, Medical Director of a hospital, one of the leading cardiothoracic surgeons in the country, and yet I still can't save the life of a baby in my care." 

Ric listened to her story, heard every word, all said in that flat, almost toneless voice of hers that belied the effort it took for her to tell him all this. He felt an enormous wave of sympathy for everything she had gone through, and for the far too evident guilt he could see in her, even after all these years. "Connie," He said gently, feeling as though he was breaking in on a truly virtuoso performance. "You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of." "Do you know something," She said caustically. "That's the most pathetically pointless bit of sentiment I've ever heard you come out with. I killed my own child, Ric. She died because I was too busy snorting coke, or taking speed, to give a damn about her survival. Do you have any idea how that feels?" She demanded, angry tears rising to her eyes. "No, I don't," He said quietly. "All I'm trying to say is, that if you carry the guilt around with you for the rest of your life, it is bound to impact on how you deal with the kind of thing that happened to day." "So what do you expect me to do?" She asked derisively, knowing he couldn't provide her with an easy answer. "Connie, I don't know what to say," He was forced to admit. "So don't try," She said, the tears running down her cheeks, making her feel more feeble and vulnerable than she had ever been used to feeling. When he reached out his arms to offer her some comfort, she said, "Don't," And when he asked why, she said, "I don't deserve it." Not taking no for an answer, Ric pulled her gently against him. "Yes, you do deserve it," He told her quietly but firmly. "You deserve anything you need to help you get through this. You have saved your child's life, dozens and dozens of times over since then, by doing what you do every day of your working life. You'll take risks that even I won't contemplate, all in an attempt to do whatever you can for every person who comes into your care. You can't save everyone, none of us can, but every time you try, you are doing the most worthwhile thing anyone can do. I know that doesn't make it any easier, but that's what I see in you. Every time you have a scalpel in your hand, I see someone who is utterly dedicated to caring for people and to saving their lives. We've all made mistakes, Connie, even huge ones. But any debt you feel you need to pay, was paid a very long time ago." "It felt so right, to pick her up this afternoon," She said into his chest, clearly referring to the baby she'd operated on. "I don't know why, it just did." "That's what Will said it looked like," Ric told her. "Oh, fantastic," She said, sounding utterly exhausted. "So now my registrar thinks I've really lost it." "Well, I'm sure you'll put him right," Ric said fondly, running his fingers through her soft, curly hair, and holding her in his strong, masculine arms. She couldn't have done without him that night, though she would never have admitted it. He kept her from going completely insane, listening to her as she rambled on about work, about men, about everything, steadily working her way down the bottle of red wine, whilst Ric kept to the one glass he'd started out with. She didn't seem to have any tears left in her after a while, her face simply assuming that overtired, slightly crumpled look that Ric had so often seen on Diane. 

When the third CD had reached its end, Ric lifted her face from where it rested against his shoulder. "It's late," He said, glancing at his watch. "You should go to bed." "Well, at least it's Saturday tomorrow, and I don't have to work," She said. "Barring any catastrophes that is. Are you staying?" She asked, getting to her feet. "Do you want me to stay?" He said, turning the question back on her. "Yeah, okay," She said noncommittally, never willing to give him more than the merest hint of verbal encouragement. As he followed her up the stairs and they went through their bedtime rituals, it dawned on him that this was becoming a familiar process, to do these things in this house, in this bedroom, with this woman. He'd probably slept half a dozen times in this bed since the first time some weeks ago, and it really was beginning to feel right, normal. They neither of them bothered to wear anything in bed any more, reasoning that it would always be removed eventually anyway, if not immediately discarded by mutual thought. But when Ric felt Connie's delicious curves nestling up against him, he spared a thought to wish that there was at least a thin cotton barrier separating them tonight. When she kissed him, he could taste a combination of wine and toothpaste on her lips. He gently ran his hand up and down her back, trying to make her relax, trying to take away some of the emotional torture she'd been putting herself through all evening. But as she took his hand, leading it to her breast, and slipped a leg in between his to rub teasingly up against him, he drew slightly back from her. "Connie, no," He said, removing his hand from hers, which was intent on getting him to touch her. "Why not?" She asked without ranker. "It's just what I could do with tonight." "Because you're drunk," He said succinctly. "I bloody am not," she protested vehemently, which made him smile. "Yes, you are," He insisted affectionately. "And I refuse to sleep with someone who isn't entirely in control of what she is doing." Shooting a venomous glare in Ric's direction, Connie turned her back, lying on her side, facing away from him, and pulling the duvet up to her chin. After a few moments of her stubborn silence, Ric tentatively stroked her shoulder. "Don't sulk," He said quietly. "I'm not sulking," She said, her voice containing all the strident and defensive ire he was used to hearing. "Yes, you are," He said with a laugh. "And it really doesn't suit you." "What do you expect me to do?" She demanded, still facing away from him. "I could really do with a little of your particular expertise tonight, but you won't give it to me. What a marvelous lover you turned out to be." She sounded ever so slightly petulant, and he couldn't help but smile. Oh, how Connie would regret saying all this in the morning. "Turn over," He told her. "Why?" She wanted to know. "Just do it," He said with a grin. When she did turn over to face him, he put his arms round her and kissed her. "Tomorrow, when you are sober again, yes, but not now. I'm told it's a very good hang over cure," He added, softly stroking one of her breasts. "Mmm, it certainly is," She said in that sultry, inviting tone that had drawn him to her in the first place. Acquiescing to his bargain, she cuddled up to him again, knowing that although she would never say so, she did need him hear with her tonight, more than anyone else in the world. Only Ric seemed to understand her, to simply accept her for who she was, instead of always trying to change her. As she drifted to sleep with her head on his chest, she wondered how long it would take him to get sick of her, just as they all did eventually. 

When Ric drifted into consciousness the next morning, he found himself also heartily glad that it was Saturday. Connie had moved around in her sleep, just as she always did, but she'd ended up back as she'd started, with her arms round him and her head on his chest. One of her legs had slipped between his, making him wonder how on earth he was going to hide his early morning arousal from her. Connie was still sound asleep, and he had no need to wake her. He gently ran his fingers through her tousled hair as he lay, listening to her breathe, and feeling her tiny movements as she twitched in the midst of a dream. They were huddled under the thick, goose-feather duvet, the bed their very own warm haven from the world outside. Ric wasn't sure if it was because Connie didn't have anyone in her bed for the entire night on a regular basis, but she always seemed to end up sprawled all over him when he stayed with her, a state of affairs he had to admit he liked. But when Connie murmured, "Good morning," From the region of his chest, he figured she must at least be half-awake by now. "How do you feel?" He asked her, never having seen Connie with a hang over before. "Fine, as long as I stay still," She said her voice possessing that first thing in the morning depth that he found so sexy. "You were very restless last night," Ric told her with a yawn. "I'm sorry," She said sleepily. "Would you like a cup of tea?" He asked, knowing that he certainly felt like one. "Mmm, that would be nice," She replied, trying to untangle herself from him, and discovering the effect her naked nearness was having on him. "Well, well, Mr. Griffin," She said, with a blatantly evident smirk in her voice. "I see you're ready for action as always." "Stop it," He said, as she laid a hand over him, though he couldn't keep the smile out of his voice. "Oh, well, maybe when you get back then," She acquiesced, pulling herself into a sitting position, and immediately regretting it. "Oh, not a good idea," She said, grimacing as a wave of nausea swept over her. "Would Alka Seltzer be more appropriate?" He asked, getting out of bed and pulling on his trousers. "Both please, though not together," She said, slumping back onto the pillows, determined not to do anything so unattractive as throw up whilst he was still in the vicinity. "Oh, Michael might be downstairs," She warned him as he moved to the bedroom door. "He was out last night, but being an even more overactive whore than I am, he'll probably be back this morning." Wondering just what he had let himself in for, Ric went downstairs. 

Sure enough, when Ric walked into the stone flagged kitchen, a man he hadn't seen before was sitting at the table, clearly drinking coffee and reading the paper. "Oh, hello," He said, looking up at Ric standing in the doorway, showing Ric that he was perfectly used to seeing strange men in his kitchen. "I was just going to make Connie some tea," Ric said, feeling highly uncomfortable at being on another man's territory. "Be my guest," Michael said politely, pouring himself another cup of coffee from the steaming pot. "Would you like some coffee?" Saying that yes, he would, Ric filled the kettle. "Did Connie get drunk last night?" Michael asked, pouring Ric a mug from the pot and handing it to him. "Why do you ask?" Ric said, feeling more and more at ease in this man's company. "She never leaves a half full ashtray till the next morning unless she's been drinking," He said, telling Ric that last night was no first for Connie. "She had a pretty bad day yesterday," Ric said evasively, unsure as to how much her husband knew. "A baby died in theatre." "And Connie felt far more guilty than she needed too," Michael clarified. "Something like that. Does she often get drunk, after a bad day at work." "Only where very young babies are involved," Michael filled in, seeing that this man wasn't just around for the nighttime frolics, but that he really wanted to be there for his wayward wife. "So no, it's really very rare." "That figures," Ric said, pouring boiling water over the teabag, and hunting in the cupboard for the Alka Seltzer Connie had said would be there. "Good god," Michael said in astounded realisation. "Did she really tell you about all that?" "Yes, she did," Ric told him, not giving anything away if by chance they were on different wave lengths, but they weren't. "I'm not sure whether you deserve a medal for perseverance or bravery," Michael said ruefully, picking up his coffee and heading for the door. Then, over his shoulder, he added, "Oh, I'd finish that coffee before you go back upstairs. If she's got anything like the hang over she deserves after drinking my favourite bottle of red wine, the smell of coffee will make her throw up." Taking his word for it, Ric stood and looked out at the grey morning sky as he finished his coffee. 

Once upstairs, Michael briefly popped his head round Connie's bedroom door. They may not be man and wife in the biblical sense, but he held a sincere affection for his wife, as he knew she did for him. "I see you didn't leave me any of that Merlot," He said, bringing her gaze on him. "I'll buy you a new bottle," She mumbled, in exhausted defeat. "Are you all right?" He asked in concern. "I will be," She said, grateful for his interest. "That's one very good-looking man you've picked up there," He commented. "Well, I must shatter all your dreams by telling you that he is one hundred percent straight," She said with a smile. "Oh, I know that," Michael said philosophically. "You lucky bitch. He looks a nice one though, not just skin deep and all that. You should hang onto this one." "We'll see," Connie said noncommittally. 

When Ric appeared a few minutes later, carrying a mug of tea and a glass full of fizzing Alka Seltzer, Connie smiled weakly at him. "Ask me now for any increase in your surgical budget, and I promise it will be granted," She said, putting out a hand to take the glass. "Connie, even you couldn't talk figures with a hang over," Ric said, getting back into bed. Connie shuddered as she knocked back the Alka Seltzer, looking for a moment as if she would have to immediately go and throw the lot up. "Why, do all medicines that actually work, taste absolutely vile?" She asked, reaching for the mug of strong tea. "Because all nice things are bad for you, and all horrible things are good for you," Ric told her, as she took a sip of the steaming liquid and lay back down beside him. "Ric," She said tentatively. "I'm sorry about last night." "You have nothing to be sorry about," He said, putting his arms round her. "I meant it last night, and I mean it now." "It's funny," She said. "But I feel empty, almost cleansed, but duller, if that makes any sense." "You had an extremely emotional outburst yesterday," He told her gently "Which has probably left you feeling a little more vulnerable than you are used to feeling." As she flinched at the word vulnerable, he made her look him in the eye. "I'm not going away, Connie, not ever. At least not as long as you want me to stay .I might have broken every promise I've made in my life, but I fully intend on keeping this one." As she stared at him, trying to take in what he was saying to her, she wondered if she could do anything remotely similar for him. Yes she could certainly provide the buzz when he needed it, She could even provide the listener and the pair of comforting arms, but could she really provide the kind of stable rock he was saying he could be for her? Only time would tell. 


End file.
